Fly"
by SNSeaborn
Summary: A spin on “In The Shadow Of Two Gunmen”; if Zoey had been shot and if she didn’t make it, this is what Jed, Abbey, and some of the Senior Staff’s reactions may have been… It’s a little sad, and a bit short, but I think it’s not too bad for a


This is a response to the July State of the Union Challenge to write a "Song Fic". It is my first response to a challenge, so I hope that you all don't hate it. Feedback is delicious!!  
  
Title: "Fly"  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Character(s): POTUS, FLOTUS, Zoey, everyone actually  
  
Spoilers: ITSOTG (Parts 1 and 2)  
  
Synopsis: A spin on "In The Shadow Of Two Gunmen"; if Zoey had been shot and if she didn't make it, this is what Jed, Abbey, and some of the Senior Staff's reactions may have been… It's a little sad, and a bit short, but I think it's not too bad for a first challenge fic!!  
  
Song Reference: "Fly", written by: Jean-Jacques Goldman and Phil Galdston, performed by Celine Dion (Yay, Canada!) featured on her 'Falling Into You' CD. Ok, my plug for Canadian music is done now…  
  
Feedback: ALWAYS WELCOME!!! jillianbarry@hotmail.com  
  
*********  
  
Fly, fly little wing  
  
Fly beyond imagining  
  
The softest cloud, the whitest dove  
  
Upon the wind of heaven's love  
  
**********  
  
"We interrupt this broadcast for a special news bulletin. We go now live to our Washington Studio, where Dan Rather is standing by. Dan…"  
  
"Thank you. Some incredibly sad news from the Nation's Capital this evening. As many of you are aware, earlier this evening there was a barrage of gunfire at the town hall meeting in Rosslyn, where President Bartlet was speaking. We reported to you earlier that the President was hit, and we have word at this hour that he is conscious and seems to be doing well. However, it is with the saddest of hearts that we have to report that the First Daughter, Zoey Bartlet, whom we reported was also hit, gave up her fight upon her arrival at the hospital. May we at the station be the first, Mr. President and Mrs. Bartlet, to offer you our sincerest sympathies and to let you know that the thoughts and prayers of the American people are with you…"  
  
**************  
  
"Jed, turn it off."  
  
"Abbey, she was our daughter."  
  
Here we are, standing in the middle of the Residence and we're watching the tape of the official announcement. We're on the way to the funeral at the National Cathedral in a matter of moments, and I have to be strong. Not only for Jed, the girls or the rest of the country. I have to be strong; for me. If I don't, I'll lose it, and that would not be good.  
  
"And she always will be, Jed. The people of this country will be more than understanding of your inability to perform your duties for the next few days. We have to get going."  
  
"Why do these things always happen to me, Abbey? Did I do something that is completely against everything that is good in this world?"  
  
I am trying so hard to hold back my tears, but as I talk to him about our baby in the past tense, I just can't help myself.  
  
"Jed, you were and are the best father you could be for her. I know that she would want you to be strong; to be strong and carry her ideals and those things that she cherished. She would want you to take care of Charlie for her…"  
  
I can't help it. I lose control. One of the things that I don't do well is losing control; mostly because I don't do it very often. I fall to the ground on my knees, ripping the nylons that I have on under my black suit, and proceed to throw myself into a fit of uncontrollable, gut-wrenching sobs.  
  
"My baby. My little baby…"  
  
**********  
  
Past the planets and the stars  
  
Leave this lonely world of ours  
  
Escape the sorrow and the pain  
  
And fly again.  
  
***********  
  
It's raining in Washington. I wonder why it always rains when something awful happens. I'm sitting in the motorcade with the President and First Lady in the car ahead. Donna, Sam and CJ are with me, and I can't help but think of this whole shooting thing.  
  
"God, he must hate me." I think I said that out loud; I don't really know what is a thought and what is actual voice these days. I guess I should be kinda careful.  
  
"What was that?" I guess it was audible.  
  
"You heard me, Donna."  
  
"I didn't. I wouldn't have asked you to repeat yourself if I had."  
  
Donnatella Moss. She's been great through all this. She is a rock. As my hands, which are rubbing up and down my legs to try and ease the tension that is coursing through my body at this moment, she rests her hand gently on mine. I told you she was a rock. With one gesture, she calms me down. Somewhat.  
  
"I mean, I introduced them. It's all my fault. If I had never introduced Charlie to the President, then Charlie would never have met Zoey. They wouldn't have been at the thing together, and then this would not have happened. He must hate me."  
  
"Everyone hates you, Josh. But I don't think that the President hates you for this."  
  
"You're funny, Sam. How can you be sure? He probably does."  
  
There is a very long pause, and the wheels are turning in my head. I think they can tell I am thinking something and I don't think they want to distract me. I look at Sam and ask very matter-of-factly  
  
"If I ask you to help me write something, would you?"  
  
"Depends on what it is."  
  
"My resignation."  
  
"To hell with that, Joshua. You aren't going anywhere!"  
  
"CJ, I don't think you understand…"  
  
"Actually, I do understand, Josh. I think that you are being pig-headed and selfish and that you need to concentrate your energies on how you can help the President and First Lady, not on how you think he hates you. I think he has more important things to deal with right now than you."  
  
"You have a point, C.J. You have a point…"  
  
I think she says something else, but I'm not really listening. I have my head leaning on the window of the black car we are riding in, and I'm looking somberly out the window. I feel Donna's other slender hand on my back, rubbing it gently. I look over at her, and she smiles one of her 'Everything's Gonna Be OK' smiles at me. I make a half-assed attempt to smile back. I don't know if I can believe her smile inference right now, but I'll try to believe it a little later.  
  
***********  
  
Fly, fly precious one  
  
Your endless journey has begun  
  
Take your gentle happiness  
  
Far too beautiful for this  
  
************  
  
It's strange, but I don't feel as full of mourning as I think I should be. We are the car right behind the herse and the director of the procession. I see the armed guards lining the route from the darkened window of the car. Abbey's hand is tightly bound around mine, and my two surviving… I can't even say it. You know to whom I am referring. Our two girls are sitting across from us. They look as tired as I feel. I haven't slept since my surgery at the hospital, which was 6 days ago. I went without sleep for longer than that when we were campaigning, but this is a different type of sleep deprivation. That was 'you're running on adrenaline, can't wait to get to the next stop' lack of sleep. This is 'rip your heart out, can't get a wink of sleep; then hoping someone will put a lethal dose of sleeping medication in your drink so you don't have to deal with the heartache' lack of sleep; utter exhaustion. I see the steps of the Cathedral within my view from the window, and I tighten my grip around Abbey's hand. She knows. No words are needed.  
  
"Girls," I say with a shaky voice.  
  
"Your mother and I love you with all our hearts. We are so proud of you. I know that I don't say it often enough, but I truly do love you. For who you are, for what you are and what you have become and done with your lives. I only hope that the titles that you hold and the impression that the country has of us doesn't preclude you from showing any emotion. I don't plan on withholding anything during the service, neither does your mother…"  
  
"We love you, girls. Let's go."  
  
Abbey has always known just what to do. The Secret Service opens the door to the limousine, and upon my foot stepping on the ground, all those in attendance stand at attention. I wait at the door to of the car for Abbey and the girls. We look at each other, then Ellie takes my hand, then her sister's, then her sister takes Abbey's. I give Ellie's hand a squeeze, and she passes it down the line towards her mother. It's a thing that we all used to do when we would walk like this; the kids walking in between their parents. It's just one of those things. But something's missing. The hand holding mine feels a little larger than it normally does… Zoey. I'm really trying to hold back the tears here. I really am…  
  
*********  
  
Cross over to the other shore  
  
There is peace forevermore  
  
But hold this mem'ry bittersweet  
  
Until we meet  
  
**********  
  
"We are gathered here today to say goodbye. As a nation, we grieve at the passing of the First Daughter. As people, we grieve at the loss of a daughter; a sister; a friend. Let us pray…"  
  
I never thought I would see so many people gathered in a church before. Zoey was a wonderful person, and I truly will miss her. Donna and the rest of the gang always said that she brought a joy to the West Wing of the White House whenever she would pop by. The President and First Lady were always in a great mood, and we, of course, would always be invited to the Residence for chili the first available night when she was home from school. I truly do admire her. Her tenacity, her endless amounts of energy, the face that could light up a room. I saw her more than the rest of the assistants in the White House. Being the First Lady's Chief of Staff/Personal Assistant, I saw a lot. I don't mean to say that their relationship was bad or anything; don't get me wrong. I just mean that their relationship was, well, real. They were mother and daughter. They had their good times, and they had their bad times. You know something though? Without one word of a lie, the good definitely outweighed the bad. We'll miss you Zoey. We love you.  
  
**********  
  
Fly, fly do not fear  
  
Don't waste a breath, don't shed a tear  
  
Your heart is pure, your soul is free  
  
Be on your way, don't wait for me  
  
***********  
  
Arlington National Cemetery  
  
"We commend our sister, Zoey, into the hands of Almighty God, the giver and taker of life. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen."  
  
"Amen."  
  
I have never seen the President like this. I don't think he's going to make it. I've seen him look bad, but this is just bad. Really bad. I know that the press is going to ask all kinds of personal questions about this moment in time, and to tell you the truth, I don't think it's any of their damn business. I'll have to talk to C.J. about what we're going to say, but that's a subject for a later time.  
  
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this concludes the service. The President and his family have asked me to invite you to the Residence upon receipt of the call from Mr. McGarry."  
  
I go to the Priest, who has just finished what I would think is one of the most difficult parts of his job, and extend my hand to him.  
  
"Thank you, Father. I know that this means the world to the President and First Lady."  
  
"It was difficult, but I believe that Zoey would have been pleased with the service, and that's the important thing."  
  
"I agree."  
  
The priest and I walk back to the motorcade together, hoping that everyone will follow suit. They see us leaving, then one by one they leave the First Family alone with their thoughts.  
  
************  
  
Above the universe you'll climb  
  
On beyond the hands of time  
  
The moon will rise, the sun will set  
  
But I won't forget  
  
************  
  
A hand touches my shoulder, then I hear a soft voice from behind me.  
  
"Sir, the car is waiting. Whenever you're ready, Mr. President."  
  
I turn and see a very distraught looking young man standing in front of me, holding on to one red rose.  
  
"God, Charlie. You look awful. You're drenched, shivering, and look as tired as I'm sure I do. You need to go get some sleep."  
  
"Sir, for the time being, I am your personal aide. If you stay, I stay. Those are the rules."  
  
"Charlie, there are no rules. If there were, and they were solid and steadfast, then this wouldn't have happened."  
  
"Forgive me, Sir, that's not how it is. If I had not become involved with Zoey, then this would not have happened. I brought this on to your family, and I am letting you know that when a suitable replacement is found, my resignation will be on your desk the day after, and it will be effective immediately from that date."  
  
"Charlie, a suitable replacement will never be found. Your resignation is not and never will be accepted by me, nor by any other member of this administration. Remember that."  
  
I put my hand on his shoulder and give it a strong tap. He smiles and looks up at me.  
  
"I serve at the pleasure of the President."  
  
I swear he's fighting back the tears, as am I. I draw him in for a hug, and as I hug my aide, my daughter's best friend, we cry. Not for each other, but for the loss that consumes us; trying to fill the emptiness that we both feel at this moment.  
  
**********  
  
"Mom, Dad and Charlie are crying."  
  
I look out the window.  
  
"Good. Zoey would have wanted that."  
  
A smile slowly creeps up on my face, as I see the two most important men in my baby daughter's life sharing a very personal moment together. They are joined, not only through the delicate clutches of the Presidency of the United States of America, but through the strong grasp of their love for Zoey. We're going to be ok. I look towards the sky, rain still pouring down from the heavens. I speak very quietly.  
  
"We're going to be ok, Zoey. Watch over us."  
  
As I look over at Jed and Charlie, who are now leaning over Zoey's grave and together are tossing a rose to her, I swear I can hear her say "I will Mom. I will."  
  
***********  
  
Fly, fly little wing  
  
Fly where only angels sing  
  
Fly away, the time is right  
  
Go now, find the light.  
  
***************  
  
The End 


End file.
